


Littlest Things

by robert_downey_jr



Category: Dragon Age, Dragon Age 2
Genre: F/M, Fluff, Hints of Smut
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-11-10
Updated: 2015-11-10
Packaged: 2018-05-01 00:56:20
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,281
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5186102
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/robert_downey_jr/pseuds/robert_downey_jr
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Varric has noticed some habits of Hawke's<br/>Hawke has noticed some habits of Varric's.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Littlest Things

**Author's Note:**

> I have a lot of feels, leave me alone.

It started a fancy, just something he caught himself doing from time to time. Whenever he was fortunate to have Thedas trying not to kill itself from the inside out, he would let his mind wander. It was just something he happened to think of. 

But it slowly became something more, something that nearly took up most of the attention in his mind. It wasn’t rational thinking but Varric was never a rational thinker. He could have easily made himself think of other things but whenever Hawke strode into a room, his eyes instantly roamed up her figure. 

It was barely noticeable, just a quick flick up her body then back to whatever he was doing before her senses kicked in. It was peculiar for him, somehow, she changed from just a friend to someone he didn’t have just friendly thoughts about. 

The sway of her hips whenever she was flirting with Isabella to get a free drink or the way her left leg hooked in front her right one when she did get her free drink. The way her fingers danced across her cars when they had their weekly Wicked Grace game. 

Or even how she rolled her eyes when some drunkard would throw themselves onto her shoulders and pledge their undying love to her. When she was roused from her house in the early morning, still buckling on her leathers while her hair was twisted up in a sleepy mess. 

Or how peaceful she looked when she was in her study while she had a book curled up in her lap and he sat at a nearby desk pouring himself over his writings, simple things they ended up doing when they spent together. Or even at times where she would come late on a game night, her fingers having splotches where he knew she had been writing in a journal that not even the best of rogues could find. 

It was something that turned from a fancy to nearly an obsession for him. He noticed more and more things about Hawke and he’d mark it in his head, memorizing every detail for later. It was something that kept his head clear, to keep him happy for just the smallest of moments. 

It worked when the hard times would come in, when some days he’d find Hawke still stuck in bed after the morning. He’d find her curled into a ball, a sobbing mess while she fought the internal war in her head for losing her sister or her mother. 

Or when she stood amongst a pile of bodies, all gruesomely killed from her hand. He’d see how fear would flicker across her face, a fleeting moment. He’d notice how her smile faltered whenever some bitter memory had wormed its way into her mind and her eyes would soften before she covered it up with a laugh. 

He didn’t want her to think about how broken she was on the inside, he didn’t want her to believe her own thoughts, to think she had made herself into some mindless monster. 

He wrote each individual thing down that he loved most about her. 

He could admit that mushy things weren’t his forte but he could say that when it came to writing Hawke and her little habits it came easily for him. He didn’t realize that his own habit was just writing about her in his free time. That it had become so much more than just something to keep himself happy, that he prided himself into it. 

That he loved nearly every little thing she did and that he’d nearly beg Andraste for her to look at him like the way she looked at a newly sharpened blade. He knew that it couldn’t be returned so he kept this part of him hidden, his own dark pleasure. 

~

She’d never tell him that she knew he’d been staring, he was obvious about it. He’d stare at her like she was Andraste in the flesh. She lived for that moment when she’d see his eyes swiftly shifted away when her attention turned toward him. 

She’d never tell him that she was happiest when she sat next to him during Wicked Grace and she’d see the hidden hard he had in his right glove. That’s what happens when you play with rogues, they sneak in something every now and then.  
She wouldn’t tell him that she found a reason to breathe another day when he laughed, the hardy chuckle that she just found herself tuning herself into. 

She’d notice when he fixed his pony tail and she had the mightiest of urges to run her fingers through his hair before he swept it back up. 

She wouldn’t admit that her dark secret is that she loved when Varric opened his mouth, she loved hearing him tell stories, give his three pieces of gold in a conversation or just comment on how the weather was outrageous in Kirkwall. 

Or the way she envision sitting in his lap, him telling her a story while his lips traced on her neck and she’d run her fingers through his chest hair.  
She couldn’t dare tell him that she wanted him to be with her, beside her, inside her for the rest of her life. She wouldn’t even consider telling him that it took nearly all of her strength to not grab his face and kiss him while they were in the study, the sweetest of her moments. 

She would dream telling him that she would pour herself into her journal (that she’d hide on one of the rafters in her room) describing every little detail that drove her wild about him. Like the way he’d polish Bianca, or how he looked taking his glove off with his teeth and she wondered what his scruff would feel like between her legs.  
It would keep her satisfied for a while, until the rough days came to shore and her house would be quiet and she came to the full reality that Bethany and Leandra would never come back. That she was the last person in her small family that had survived. 

She would hide herself into her room and sob, letting her tears wet her pillows while her heart would break open and everything she kept bottled up came rushing out. She would feel his gentle touch, every now and then. To tell her he was there, that he would always be there or her. Or even sometimes, she’d curl into him and he’d stay there until she had finally fallen asleep and he would still stay with a book in his hands. 

Then there would be the moments where she’d be frantic, scrubbing the blood off her armor trying to soothe her inner demons, continuously telling herself that she wasn’t a monstrosity that no person could ever love. That she, herself was worthy of love. She would try to not let the thoughts get to her and she’d shell herself up, becoming the hardened leader that everyone needed her to be. 

She wrote to not only keep her sanity straight but to also keep all the feelings and thoughts about Varric at bay. To keep them away for another day while they continued to bear through the worst of trials. She wrote them to let herself know that there were happy moments, moments she had made with him. 

They were the littlest things, things that kept her breathing kept her alive and kept her completely sane. Things that she needed to fall asleep to and to have a reason to wake up in the morning. He was the thing that kept her whole, him and his tiny habits.


End file.
